


Spare Suits and Empty Promises

by Kate04



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 17:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17626724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate04/pseuds/Kate04
Summary: Set in Season 2 - Boys Will Be Boys - Sharon is thinking about the suits in her spare bedroom and the man on her couch.





	Spare Suits and Empty Promises

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This fic is for **Kadi219** because she loves Shack just as much as I do and because she was nice enough to beta it for me. <3
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Not my sandbox, not my toys. We all know how much I wish they were, though.

 

> I love you more than songs can say, but I can't keep running after yesterday
> 
> ― John Mayer – Battle Studies

 

* * *

 

Sharon sat on her bed with her back leaning against the abundance of pillows she had not yet put aside for the night. Her legs were drawn up and her arms wrapped around them. She had a hard time breathing. She had a hard time keeping herself from leaving the room, from walking down the hallway into the living room. The living room where he was, no doubt, tossing and turning on the uncomfortable couch. 

Jack. 

They had accompanied Rusty and Kris to see a movie at Hollywood Forever. She should have known that it would be a bad idea to go. The children had enjoyed themselves, or at least Kris had. Rusty had claimed that he’d had a good time, but she wasn’t so sure if he had been completely honest. Something was going on between him and Kris that he was reluctant to share, and at some point, Sharon would figure out what it was. For the moment her attention was on her own problems. On him. 

Jack. 

Jack, who had been a perfect gentleman today. Jack, who had packed all her favorite things for their picnic. Jack, who had been all smiles, and soft touches, and tender gazes. Jack, who had taken her concern for Rusty’s security seriously, who had helped her keep an eye on him, and who had pressed his thumbs into the muscles at the small of her back when the dull throbbing had made sitting on the ground difficult. Jack, who had stepped up behind her as she was preparing her night time tea, one hand casually on her hip, the other reaching up into the cabinet to hand her the exact blend of herbal tea she wanted. He had lingered there for a moment longer, well within her personal space, his thumb caressing her through the silk of her blouse, and his lips brushing against the sensitive skin behind her ear; the contact so soft and so brief that she would have doubted that it even happened if not for the shiver of anticipation that had moved down her spine. 

He had been gone before her body was able to betray her by leaning back into him, but her skin still tingled where his lips had touched her, and if she closed her eyes, she was still able to feel his warmth behind her and smell the familiar scent of his aftershave. It was always like that. This instant recognition, the way every muscle in her body remembered what it felt like to be held by him, to be in his arms, to have him on top of her, inside of her. She was yearning for him, for his touch, for the way she knew he could make her soar. Every day he stayed at her condo, cooked breakfast or dinner, went out of his way to be nice to Rusty, kept his promise to talk to their children, every day that he greeted her with a smile and a kind word instead of a drunken tirade it became harder and harder for her to resist. 

But she knew what would happen eventually. They would crash and burn. They always did. What she was feeling at that moment was one of the main reasons she had come up with the two-nights rule years ago. After the last time she had given in to him; the last time she had listened to the yearning and taken him to her bed. It had been good. Great, in fact. It always was. From the very first time, over thirty years ago, Jack had been able to rock her world. When he was sober, he was a wonderful, kind, considerate lover, and he knew exactly how to make her toes curl. It was so easy to be with him, to fall back into old habits, even when she knew that it would not last. It never did. Eventually, he walked away. When what she had to offer was no longer enough. When the pull of the poker table or the race track became too strong again. 

When he was trying, as he was at the moment, Sharon remembered all the reasons why she had fallen in love with him. His charm, his sense of humor, that dazzling smile that made his eyes sparkle, his intelligence, and the fact that he was able to quote Shakespeare – all of that had made her swoon as a college girl, and it still did a little bit. 

Rusty had asked her once why she kept her husband’s suits in her spare bedroom. She had given him some line about Jack being the father of her children at the time, but later on, after he had learned a little bit more about the state of her marriage, Rusty had brought it up again, commenting how weird it was to keep your ex’s clothes around as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Until that moment she had never really thought about it. She had never truly questioned Jack’s place in her life. Of course, there had been times when she had considered ending their marriage. When the drinking and gambling had been at its worst. When he had taken off with all of their savings. When talk of his affairs had made the rounds at work. In the end, she had loved him too much. 

Love. 

That was one thing they’d always had in abundance. The moment he had showed up at her table at the dimly lit bar close to campus, his hand outstretched and a broad, confident smile on his face as he asked her to dance, she had been in love with Jack Raydor. Even at their worst, when his actions and words had broken her heart, she had still loved him, and she had known that, despite his addiction, despite his inability to stay, he had loved her just as much. 

It was still there, and she knew that if she allowed herself to give in, he would sweep her off her feet once again. She imagined briefly what it would be like if she went out into the living room, took his hand, and led him back to her bedroom. If she dropped her robe and slowly unbuttoned her nightgown right in front of him, her eyes never leaving his as she let the last barrier slide to the ground. She pictured the darkening of his eyes as he watched her, his hot gaze taking in every inch of exposed skin. He would step closer, placing his large, warm hands on her hips and drawing her against his body, their lips meeting in a long, deep kiss. She would help him out of his own clothes, shuddering at the feeling of his skin against hers. She wouldn’t want him to be slow and gentle. Not this time. If it were not for Rusty, she would want him to take her out there, in the living room, bent over her desk. She wouldn’t want him to take the time to undress her, simply pushing her nightgown up and her panties aside. She wanted him hot, and hard, and thick, deep inside her, his hands kneading her breasts, fingers tugging and twisting her nipples. None of that was possible, of course. Not unless she wanted to start the whole thing off by handing him a tub of lube. And not unless she wanted to risk Rusty walking in on them. 

Rusty. 

Her smart, perceptive, eager-to-be-loved boy. He still did not understand why she kept Jack’s suits in her closet. Or why he still had a key. Or why her issue was not him showing up in the middle of the night, but rather the fact that he had not called prior to invading her home. And yet, he accepted Jack’s presence in their home, accepted her husband’s offer to drive him to and from school, his poker lessons, his jokes, and his help and advice. Rusty was beginning to fall for Jack, too. He was starting to trust him, to look up to him. 

Rusty was the only reason she was still sitting on her bed. If it had been just her, she would have given in to the lust she felt when she thought of the man on her couch. She would have taken a few weeks, a few days, a few hours of passion and dealt with the inevitable heartbreak later, the way she had done countless times before.

It was no longer just her, though, and Rusty was not Ricky or Emily. He was not used to this routine, to Jack’s coming and going, to the intense passion and the secret, silent tears that always followed. Rusty had seen his share of dysfunctional relationships, and maybe his presence in her life had made her aware of just how dysfunctional her relationship with Jack really was. She had not known anything but what they had for her entire adult life. It had only ever been Jack and a few, meaningless affairs when he had stayed away for too many years. She had never questioned if she deserved better than a husband who only stuck around as long as his limited attention span allowed, who could never seem to love her enough to stay. But maybe she did. Maybe, if she didn’t consider Jack reliable and trustworthy enough for Rusty, he wasn’t for her, either.

 

**~FIN~**

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
